Page 60 of Wild Card

Catriona

Gio’s grandmother is a whirlwind of energy. I hope I’m that active at her age, especially after a stroke. She tells me stories about her wild youth, how she met Gio’s grandfather, and how she longs to move back to Boston before she dies.

“I want to go back to the North End, Gattina, one day. My family’s lived there for generations.”

We sit in the family room, and I smile as she talks about her mother surviving the Great Molasses Flood that happened in the North End.

“It was January 15, 1919. The big tank on Copp’s hill had been groaning for weeks. My mama used to go there with her little brother and grab cups full of molasses as it leaked from the seams of the tank. But that day the tank collapsed, right after noon, sending a twenty-five-foot-high wave of sticky, thick molasses into the city. It killed 21 people. Can you imagine? Not my mother, though. She and her brother survived, but they said they could smell molasses for years afterwards on hot summer days.”

“What a way to go,” I say. “Drowning in molasses.”

“You said it.”

We hear the door rattling, and Mrs. DeLuca waves at me as she gets up. “It’s probably Gio. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

I smile as I hear her talking to herself as she wanders to the door. “Cavalo—I meant to ask him to pick up some fresh rosemary for the focaccia…”

Her chatter ends abruptly.

It’s not Gio.

I hear arguing, mostly in Italian. I bolt from the couch, and see Lorenzo looming over his mother, his hand raised. Stepping between them, I grab his wrist. I should be terrified, but I don’t feel anything but hatred for this horrible man and his callous disregard for other people. I can’t help but wonder where Gio is, though. Did his uncle kill him? Did Freddie? I don’t have time to parse those terrible thoughts.

“What’s wrong with you?” I snarl. “She’s an old woman.”

“Mind your business, you dumb slut,” he says, wrenching his wrist from my grip.

I could kill him now, for how he chose to insult me, for how badly he’s hurt me, and for threatening his mother right now.

“This is my business. You’re a coward. You hurt helpless women to feel tough and it’s pathetic.”

He leers at me. “Helpless, huh? Well don’t worry. I’m here for you and not for my mother. I’m taking you to Freddie’s.”

He grabs my arm, and I kick his shin. He swears at me, and I kick him again, even harder this time. I fly at him, clawing, kicking, punching out my anger at him, and at all the men who’d hurt me before, reduced me to a slur to suit their hatred of passionate women. Treated me like I was worthless because I’m not who they think I should be. I land several good blows and manage to knock him off his feet, but he grabs my ankle, pulling me with him. He rolls on top of me, his hairy forearm pressed against my neck.

“No! Renzo, no!” His mother pulls at his arm.

He shoves her off of him, but she’s back in an instant.

“You disrespect your mother like this?” she cries.

She didn’t think it possible. Gio didn’t either, or he wouldn’t have left us here alone. The pressure on my throat is painful, but I manage to grab his ear, and I pull hard. He screams in pain and smacks my head against the linoleum. His mother comes for him again, and he swings around, grabbing her and dragging her to the pantry as she screams in vain. He shoves her in and pushes a chair under the doorknob so she can’t get out.

I’m on my feet again but hesitate for a moment. Do I run, or kick out the chair?

And that hesitation is my undoing.

“This is all your fault,” he yells, lunging at me. I try to run, but he grabs me around the waist and I scream in frustration. “I came here for you, and she told me to leave again. She and my idiot nephew thought I’d just roll over. That you’d be safe here.” He laughs. “Well Gio was wrong, sweetheart. Wrong about a lot of things.”

His pupils are dilated. He’s on blow again. It’s not surprising, but it’s terrifying.

Mrs. DeLuca pounds on the door, screaming for Lorenzo to open it.

“Shut up, Mama,” he yells back. “Shut up unless you want me to knock you on your ass!”

“You don’t want to do this, Lorenzo. You don’t want to be the man who threatens his mother.”

He sneers at me.

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